


a different kind of craving

by Khismer



Category: Mystic Messenger (Video Game)
Genre: F/M, Halloween Shenanigans, M/M, Other, no pronouns for reader but presumed dfab
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-31
Updated: 2016-10-31
Packaged: 2018-08-28 06:31:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,004
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8435179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khismer/pseuds/Khismer
Summary: “I don't need things like candy,” he says, quiet but firm, and his lips pull up in a smirk as he reaches up to stroke your cheek. “...so can I mess with you instead?”





	

You'd intended it to be a night in. Marathon some old classic horror films, pass out candy if kids came by, play along with their costumes and maybe act a little yourself.

\-- it's kind of a half-assed costume anyway, but devils usually come in the flavor of _tight red leather_ , and uh, that wasn't really a good fit if you were only intending it to be seen by trick-or-treaters. It's just some accessories added to your usual clothes -- horns on a headband, a spade tail tucked into the waistband of your pants, a pitchfork left propped by the door.

It wasn't even dark yet, and you'd only opened the door twice, both times for very young children shepherded by parents who'd explained that their little rugrats needed to get to bed long before the neighborhood porch lights would start to flicker on. They grinned gap-toothed in wonder when you pretended like the second handful of candy you gave them was supposed to be a secret.

So you were expecting more of the same when the knock at the door came, but who should you find on the other side but the twins with hair to rival the red of your costume -- neither of them were in costume, though Saeran was decked out in a rather festive jack-o-lantern sweater. Bright orange, to boot. Saeran’s lack of a proper costume didn't surprise you, but really, Saeyoung?

Saeyoung’s grin was bright as he assured you he _did_ plan to wear a costume later that night, and it would be, of course, spectacular. His grin turned sappy as he described how he would match his _fiancee_. Sounded cheesy as hell, but cute.

(When your gaze drifted to Saeran again, he tugged on the hem of the sweater and muttered something about agreeing under duress.)

“Then you came all this way for candy?” you asked.

But no, no, you see, they're here for something far more important! (Though they both still took some candy from you.)

No, you see, Saeran isn't too keen on any of his brother's plans for the evening -- and here Saeyoung pressed the back of his hand to his forehead in mock-agony -- but he _can't_ be alone, can he? No, of course not! And if he's with you, well, problem solved, right?

You wonder how much of this was Saeran’s idea. From the scowl, very little, you think. Then again, looking at the way he pinks, maybe.

Still, how could you say no?

So now you bustle around the kitchen, searching for the last bag of candy to mix into the candy bowl. “You know,” you say over your shoulder as you stretch to peer up at the cabinet shelves, “if you weren't such a grump you could probably be having fun right now.”

You can't see his face, but you can imagine the look of slight contempt he might be wearing. “I'm not interested in watching my brother and his girlfriend act like even bigger idiots than usual in costume.” You have to bite your lip to keep back a grin -- unless he's moved while you've been searching, and you _think_ he has, he's saying this while the candy bowl is perched on his lap, picking out his favorite kinds.

“See, that's what I'm talking about, that attitude right there. If you lightened up a little, you might not be cooped up with me on Halloween night -- a _ha_ , _there_ you are.” You pluck the bag from where it was wedged between cereal boxes with some satisfaction and then back to him.

He mutters something you don't quite catch.

“What was that?” You slide the bag across the table to him, indicating that he should rip it open and add it to the mix.

He hesitates, fiddling with the bag, then says, grudgingly, “...don't mind… being with you…”

When you grin, he scowls and flushes. He uses the candy as an excuse not to look at you, ducking his head as if to focus fully on mixing it all together.

It's -- well, nothing's official, exactly. So it's nice to hear him openly admit that he likes your company, even if it _is_ reluctantly.

...though, because of that, it takes you a moment to recognize how many wrappers are strewn around him.“Hey, woah, don't take so much!” you protest, hurrying closer.

He makes a face at you and swipes another piece of candy from the bowl as you pull it away.

“ _Not_ for you,” you chide, and grin as he pouts. “You can have whatever’s left at the end of the night, but it's going to the kids first.”

He scowls harder and you can’t help but laugh. You pluck another candy out and toss it towards him. It doesn't make him any cheerier, but he unwraps it and pops it sullenly in his mouth.

You set the bowl on a chair by the front door, then double back to pull him with you to the living room, flicking off the kitchen lights as you go.

“Alright, grumpy, help me pick out which movie to start with.” The one you'd been watching earlier hadn't been able to keep your attention, so you use his arrival as a reason to switch to something new. “C'mon, I've got some options picked out.”

You plunk yourself down on the couch and pat the cushion next to you. He sits an arm's length away, pauses, and then scoots in closer so his hip is bumping yours. You lean against him obligingly.

“Allllright, let's see… we've got Dracula, Nosferatu, Frankenstein… _Young_ Frankenstein, Creature from the Black Lagoon… maybe The Cabinet of Dr. Caligari?”

You peer up at him, but his brow is furrowed at the choices you offer.

“Can't decide? Or…” A possibility dawns on you. “You… haven't seen any of these?” With… what you know about his background, it's not surprising.

He hesitates, then shakes his head.

“Ah _-hah_. Well… then I guess I get to share in your first time, then; lucky me!”

He squints at you, perhaps inspecting your tone for sarcasm, but seems… maybe a little _relieved_ at your reaction. Cute.

“Anything stand out to you?”

He hums a little as he considers. “...what would you normally pick?”

“Mmmh, most of these are pretty good to start out with, but… Dracula’s a pretty standard pick for horror, and Young Frankenstein’s good for something lighter. Whaddaya think?”

“I can do horror.”

“Dracula?”

He nods.

“Vampires it is.”

You settle in comfortably, but you're scarcely past the opening credits when the doorbell rings.

“Oh, pause it, pause it!” You hop up to hurry to the door, while he fumbles to do as you ask.

A boy dressed like… a crossing guard? He's too shy to say anything, point to hide behind his parent’s leg and blink up at you owlishly.

“He's a little frightened of your costume,” explains his -- somewhat sheepish -- parent.

Wow, if this kid's not a fan of your flimsy costume, he is _not_ gonna like the neighbors. Still, you slip off the horned headband and press a finger to your lips. “A disguise,” you say, figuring whatever he comes up with is better than anything you could make up on the spot.

This seems to comfort him, as he gives a solemn nod and manages a shy “...thank you,” before he leaves.

You wave off the pair before shutting the door and returning to the couch.

You get six minutes further when the doorbell rings again.

This time, you spend a minute fawning over the princess who proudly tells you she helped make the costume.

“Oh, _did_ you?” you gasp. “Was it hard?”

“ _Especially_ the wand,” she says, and bops you gently on the forehead with it.

This time, when you sit, Saeran loops an arm around your waist and tugs you in closer so your head rests against his chest.

It's after the fourth interruption that he shows his displeasure more clearly.

“I don't understand the point of this,” he mumbles as you place the candy bowl back by the door. You give him a quizzical look.

“Halloween,” he clarifies. “It has… no real meaning, and yet… people force importance to this day?”

He's obviously unhappy, so you try to stifle the laugh that threatens to escape you. It may be brought on by your repeated absences, but that doesn't mean it's not genuine confusion. “Sure do,” you say. “What's wrong with banding together to find a reason to dress up and eat candy?”

He still gives you a dubious look. Well, of course he would; he’s got no interest in dressing up and he’s not even _getting_ any candy right now.

“...tell you what, next year we'll go to a costume party together, really get in the spirit of it so you can give it a try, and if it turns out it's not your thing, I'll… buy extra bags of candy just for you, not to give out. Alright?”

It's only after you say it that you realize the _permanence_ you've just implied; the assumption that there will _be_ shared Halloweens in the future.

“...yeah,” he says, “alright.” He's gone pink, and you suspect you have too. You both avert your eyes when you sit down again, though he cinches both arms around you now.

As it gets later, the stream of kids begins to peter off. Having to jump up less often affords you time to switch to a more comfortable position, laying with your head on the arm of the couch, back against his chest, his arms around you.

And he starts getting… handsy.

The film is reaching what you presume to be the climax, judging from how loud the violins grow, when he nuzzles into you, pulling you flush against him and slipping a hand up the bottom of your shirt. He starts tracing languid spirals on your stomach, and you can _feel_ him smile against your neck as you shudder. He presses a kiss there and you squirm and start to turn so you can lavish him with just as much attention --

\-- and the doorbell rings.

His arms tighten around your waist, reluctant to let you go.

“Saeran--”

You wriggle a little, trying to free yourself from his arms. He tightens his grip even more, ever-stubborn, and then relents with a groan, letting you free so you can answer the door.

Admittedly, you kind of rush through this one, tossing out a quick compliment for the robot costume that is, actually, pretty damn cool if it’s handmade. You’re too eager to go back to be willing to draw out the encounter, though, and you shut the door in record time.

He sits up before you can rejoin him on the couch, mouth pulled into a frown.

“Set it out,” he says.

You tilt your head, not understanding.

He’s shooting a petulant look at the candy bowl by the door, like he's holding it personally responsible for stealing your attention, and now he jerks his chin at it. “Just… set the bowl put. Let them take it themselves. ...no more interruptions.”

“...really?” You shake your head. “I mean, yeah, I can do it, but that’ll be the end of any candy left for you.”

“I don’t care,” he insists, as though he hadn’t happily been devouring as much as he could get his hands on earlier.

You lips quirk up. “Fine, one sec.”

You drag the chair outside and set the bowl atop it once more. After a moment of consideration, you duck into the kitchen to scrawl the instruction to “just take ONE handful please!” along with a hastily scribbled pumpkin to make it more festive, and you wedge this makeshift sign between the bowl and the back of the chair, hoping it'll remain visible.

When you come back in, he still looks kind of baleful. It makes you want to kiss that pout right off of him -- and why not? You decide to do just that, hopping back onto the couch and pressing a quick kiss so each corner of his lips and then letting him meet you in a longer one.

When you pull away, you sigh, “ahhhh, even with the sign, the kids'll definitely take more than they should.” Teasingly, you ask, “There'll be no more candy left over for you, you know; you’re _sure_ you're okay with that?

“I don't need things like candy,” he says, quiet but firm, and his lips pull up in a smirk as he reaches up to stroke your cheek. “...so can I mess with you instead?”

“Yyyyeah?” you ask, trying to hide the way your heartbeat quickens. “And how do you plan on doing that?”

“I mean,” he says, gaze intense, “I could always eat you instead.”

And with that, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you onto his lap.

He has… a tendency to kiss you until _just_ before you reach your limit and need to pull away, leaving you breathless, gasping. You wind your hands into his hair and hold tight, sometimes directing, but mostly just along for the ride. All you can think about is having him nearer still to you, and he _loves_ it.

It’s almost embarrassing how quickly he coaxes you into shedding clothes for him, but soon your pants are lying discarded on the floor and he’s using one hand to trace around your hips, dipping occasionally, briefly, into your underwear, but just barely.

He tangles his free hand in your hair, then stops and pauses a moment to regard you. “You know that even without dressing up... there are devils inside people's hearts?" You want to laugh at how melodramatic he sounds, but the fingers he has hooked in the waistband of your underwear makes it come out shaky, stuttered. He grins, then moves to pluck the headband from your head and place it on his own. The horns are a little lopsided, but you can't really bring yourself to care.

“So…” Your name on his lips is sweetly sighed as he pulls you in closer, breath ghosting against your neck, eliciting goosebumps. “...would you let me in your heart?”

“I don't think my h-heart is really what you're aiming for right now,” you stutter as he slips his hand into your underwear and thumbs at your clit.

His smile is satisfied. “Close enough,” he hums.

He alternates the pressure, making light, broad circles then firmer, slower presses, and keeps at it as his middle finger starts tracing your opening, teasing -- and then he suddenly withdraws, leaving you to whine at the loss of contact.

He taps your thigh, urging you to rise, and when you do he pulls down your underwear, lifting one leg free and leaving it hooked around your other leg.

The hand he was using to tease you with is now brought to your mouth. You part your lips, and can taste yourself, faintly, on the fingers he slips in.

You make eye contact and suck on his fingers, dragging your tongue over them. He shudders. His eyes remain fixed on yours, not leaving even when he removes his hand and starts, once more, to circle your entrance, but with renewed purpose behind it.

You wrap your arms around his neck, and when you kiss him he pushes a finger in.

It’s a messy kiss, wet and tongue-heavy. You sway when he pushes in a second finger and starts to pump, and he swallows your sigh.

He rubs at your clit with the heel of his hand and you jerk. Your eyes flutter shut as you tense up.

His fingers slow, then stop, and then, maddeningly, he slips from you.

You pant as the high that’s been building starts to fizzle out.

He makes sure you see how his fingers glisten before he pops them in his mouth. He closes his eyes as if savoring the taste. It's -- well, it's hot, sure, but also _mean_. You were _so close_.

You groan. “ _Whyyyy._ ”

“ _Said_ I'd eat you.”

“Oh, _ha_ ha, very funny. Did you need to _stop_ to make that joke?”

“Mmm.” There's a faint smile on his face. “That doesn't count.”

Your brow furrows. “What?”

“Here,” he says, pushing you up a little so he can slide down, “c’mere.”

“-- _what_?”

His smirk just grows as he gets comfortable, now lying down. He gets a hold on your thighs and pulls until you're hovering above him, and then tugs you down until you're _almost_ sitting on him.

You’re… actually not putting that much weight on him but -- _still_. You hesitate, not wanting to -- smother him or something.

As if he recognizes this, he presses down a little on your thighs, bringing you closer to him, and then he angles up and flicks his tongue against your clit.

“You're fine,” he murmurs.

Your voice comes out a whisper. “Ohhhh, boy am I ever.” You still brace yourself on the arm of the couch, but… it seems you can relax a little.

He wasn't exactly _bad_ the first time he went down on you, but now he's damn near _incredible_. You've gotta give him credit; he's an eager learner.

Too often, he traces _around_ your opening without dipping in; when you whine your displeasure you hear a rumble of laughter from him. He suddenly sucks on your clit so you buckle, then thrusts his tongue in.

The sensation isn’t _entirely_ new, but the position keeps you on your toes -- alright, on your knees -- every swipe of his tongue drawing out gasps and sighs.

With the earlier attention, it doesn’t take long for that tension to build to a plateau, and when you find yourself teetering, you tug at his hair. “Saeran, I -- ah --”

In case you missed that note of satisfaction in his voice, it's impossible to miss the _feeling_ of him smiling against you. “...good.”

He lets his teeth brush gently over your clit, and with that pressure, you unravel.

When it hits you, you curl into yourself; you go weak, and you might be in danger of falling fully back on him, if not for the stabilizing presence of his hands on your thighs. After a moment to recover, he eases you back as he begins to sit, leaving you resting on his lap once more.

Your hand fists in his sweater, and though your grip is a little weak from post-orgasm tremors, you pull him to you, meeting him in a kiss.

You’re reluctant to pull away from him to focus on tugging his pants off, so it’s a slow process, but you pay a little more attention when you do the same to his underwear.

He shivers when he’s finally free from the confines of his boxers, and you grin.

You run your finger up the shaft, but when you move to wrap your hand around him he shakes his head. He fumbles a little as he reaches for his discarded pants, eventually pulling out a condom from one of the pockets.

Your eyebrows raise. “Prepared for anything, I see.”

He flushes and looks away, a scowl at his lips. He turns back when you lay a hand on his cheek to coax his attention to you.

“Babe, I’m kidding.” You trail a finger up his underside of his cock, smiling as his eyes go half-lidded. “I’m _definitely_ glad you’re prepared.”

You’d like to take your time with it, tease him by _slowly_ rolling it down, but -- ah, poor thing, he’s waited long enough. That doesn’t mean _no_ teasing, of course, just… less. Still, by the time you’re done, he’s panting and thrusting shallowly into your hand.

His arms wind around your waist as you position yourself over him, and when you sink, the extra weight presses you down more firmly.

You take a moment just to adjust to the feeling of him in you, to the _fullness_. You’re still sensitive when he thrusts up into you, but not enough to hurt; it just makes you acutely aware of every move he makes, every way he moves _in_ you.

When he reaches to rub at your clit, you jolt, his touch electric. You find consolation in how tightly he squeezes his eyes shut when you clench around him; at least he’s just as affected.

Your hand tangles in his hair, and the horned headband falls out at last, bouncing to the floor. Oh well.

His thrusts get more ragged, less rhythmic, and when you focus on clenching, intentionally this time, that’s it for him. He falls back a little but keeps circling your clit, and soon you’re unraveling again.

As your breathing returns to normal, he drops soft kisses down your neck and across your shoulders, and then he pulls out slowly.

Carefully, he rolls off the condom. He ties it, and --

“Woah, hey, don’t just put that down, I don’t want that on my floor. I don’t wanna step on it by accident.”

He makes a face.

“The trash can is like five feet away.”

He makes another face, but stands.

While he’s up, you notice the fallen headband. Such a small thing to start all this. You pluck it from the floor just as he returns.

“That wasn’t so hard, was it?”

He sticks his tongue out at you as he sits. He starts to pull you to him, but you hold up a hand, then plunk the headband back on him. He reaches up to touch it, then seems to think of something.

“You know…” he says. “You should let the devil in you more often.” There’s a faint smile tugging at his lips.

“Oh, hush,” you say, but grin back at him, and he takes you in his arms as he lays back against the couch. It's warm and safe in his embrace, and you begin to feel drowsy, lulled by his heartbeat.

The doorbell rings.

“...you're kidding.”

You blink at each other, then turn to stare at the door in disbelief.

“...maybe they’ll go away if we don’t answer it,” you suggest. The doorbell rings twice more. Well, so much for that idea.

You sigh and start to rise, but Saeran beats you to it. He doesn't even bother grabbing clothes, just peers through the peephole. He reaches for the doorknob.

“Saeran!” you hiss.

“It’s _not kids_ ,” he responds, exasperated. “...not _technically_ , anyway.”

“Wh--” But you don’t get any further clarification before he opens the door. You yelp and hunker down, peering over the arm of the couch.

Saeran, for his part and to your great relief, has only opened the door partway, and he leans through in it in a way that, you presume, hides his partial nudity. This _also_ means you can’t really see your would-be visitor.

Their voice goes from a cheery greeting to a surprised “Saeran?” and it clicks. Immediately you try to make yourself even smaller, just on the off chance Saeyoung can see anything at all, because _wow_ , talk about awkward.

“Yeah,’” says Saeran. “Go home without me.” And then he slams shut the door, sliding the locks firmly into place.

As he walks back, there’s silence, and then you can hear -- wait, is that whooping? Is he _cheering_?

“Saeran, your brother is _weird_ ,” you groan.

“ _Tell_ me about it.” His face is bright red.

You wouldn't have expected Saeyoung to be his brother's own personal hypeman, but then again, it's not a shock, either. Just… odd.

After a minute, you nudge Saeran with your shoulder. “So… you’re staying over?”

He doesn't meet your eyes. “...mmmh.”

Still shy sometimes, even after all that. “Good,” you say simply. You twist to put your arms around him and kiss his cheek.

And he returns the embrace.

(When you wake the next morning, intending to retrieve the candy bowl outside, you're surprised to see it sitting on the kitchen table already. In fact… as you get closer, you notice a _surprising_ amount of wrappers around it. How…?

Oh.

Oh, of _course_.

You groan. You should have known he couldn't suppress his sweet tooth for long.)

**Author's Note:**

> bless those new halloween lines, right??  
> also I want you all to know that I have no self-control and I ended up making….. roleplaying blogs for saeran and for my MC……….. I’d give the URLs and encourage you all to flirt with them but that seems egotistical so I'll just show myself out instead  
> happy halloween everyone!


End file.
